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A Memoir of the Reverend Sydney Smith
Letters 1844
Sydney Smith to Georgiana Vernon Harcourt [Malcolm], [July] 1844
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Author's Preface
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Index
Editor’s Preface
Letters 1801
Letters 1802
Letters 1803
Letters 1804
Letters 1805
Letters 1806
Letters 1807
Letters 1808
Letters 1809
Letters 1810
Letters 1811
Letters 1812
Letters 1813
Letters 1814
Letters 1815
Letters 1816
Letters 1817
Letters 1818
Letters 1819
Letters 1820
Letters 1821
Letters 1822
Letters 1823
Letters 1824
Letters 1825
Letters 1826
Letters 1827
Letters 1828
Letters 1829
Letters 1830
Letters 1831
Letters 1832
Letters 1833
Letters 1834
Letters 1835
Letters 1836
Letters 1837
Letters 1838
Letters 1839
Letters 1840
Letters 1841
Letters 1842
Letters 1843
Letters 1844
Creative Commons License

Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
Produced by CATH
 
Combe Florey, 1844.
My dear Georgiana,

I set off in despair of reaching home, but, on the contrary, Mrs. Sydney got better every scream of the railroad, and is now considerably improved. Many thanks for your kind and friendly inquiries. I was confined three days in London waiting for Mrs. Sydney’s recovery: they seemed months. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the country; I am forced to own that.

I have been reading Arnold’s Life, by Stanley. Arnold seems to have been a very pious, honest, learned, and original man.

I hope the Archbishop has resumed the use of his legs; for if an archbishop be a pillar of the Church, and the pillar cannot stand, what becomes of the incumbent weight? And neither of us, dear Georgiana, would consent to survive the ruin of the Church. You would plunge a poisoned pin into your heart, and I should swallow the leaf of a sermon dipped in hydrocyanic acid. —— would probably rejoice in the loss of us both, for in her Church the greater the misery, the greater the happiness; they rejoice in woe, and wallow in dolours.

Be a good girl, and write me a line every now and then, to tell me about my old friends; and believe me to be always your affectionate friend,

S. S.